


Spoiler Alert

by appending_fic



Series: Self Determination - Sidestories [3]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Bad Cooking, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Future Fic, Holidays, Post-Canon, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: Toby finds something unusual going on in his kitchen.(Post Self Determination)
Relationships: Claire Nuñez/Toby Domzalski
Series: Self Determination - Sidestories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432957
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Spoiler Alert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IncognitoPhenomenon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncognitoPhenomenon/gifts).



> This is for Inco, who deserves a nice Christmas present, and will probably not get to see the Warstaff happen onscreen in Self-Determination.

Toby Domzalski ( _not_ Nuñez, as about half the media seemed inclined to believe, to his continuing amusement), weary, moving with heavy steps, pushed open the door to his Washington townhouse, releasing a waft of smoke. In a moment he was standing straight, hand going to his side for a hammer he hadn't carried for nearly a decade. He moved into the house on light, quiet steps, looking to the side for some sign of intruders.

But then he rounded a corner to find Claire Nuñez, lawyer, political advisor, and master sorcerer, pulling a smoking stainless steel pot away from the burners on their stove.

Toby didn't ease his stance. "Otto?" he asked carefully.

"Don't be a dick, Tobes," Claire retorted, dropping the pot into the sink. She wiped off her hands and stepped up to him. She was wearing a T-shirt, lounge pants, and an apron Shannon had gotten her for Christmas last year, which read 'Beware of Chef'. She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, though she nipped at it warningly before stepping back. She wasn't scowling, meaning he hadn't seriously annoyed her. "I was trying to bake."

"Ah," Toby replied, as if he understood, even though he didn't.

Claire sighed and yanked the apron off, tossing it over a chair as she returned to the kitchen. She moved slowly, less enthusiastic to return to the kitchen (the site of her failure) than she'd been to leave it. She threw a bowl into the sink, and several utensils that landed with a clatter, and then yanked open their dishwasher with the rattle of dishes.

"Hey, uh." Toby followed Claire into the kitchen, keeping just out of reach. "You seem upset. Like, 'bad news cycle' upset. Which you don't normally get over…"

"Tres leches," Claire replied. "I was making it for Mordred's Nightend party." Nightend, the troll midwinter celebration, had gained a lot of momentum after Merlin's death - secular, celebrated with feasting, and the generally agreed-upon start of the story people told about Merlin's defeat, it made an easier holiday to ask the world's growing nonhuman population to celebrate than Christmas.

"Don't we usually just buy six of whatever weird dessert is trending that year?" Toby asked. "I mean, it's hit or miss - the gin and tonic cheesecake was terrible, obviously, but I liked the donut pie."

"Yeah," Claire sighed. "I just - feel overshadowed every year at these things."

"Over - you've been practically running the country since you graduated law school," Toby said. He reached a hand out to Claire, resting a hand on her wrist until she twisted her arm around to take his hand, tug him close so she could rest her head against his chest. "You've got, like, _twelve_ world leaders' direct lines in your phone. What could you possibly-" And he tensed; Claire was close enough she _had_ to have felt it. "Oh. You saw Jim's e-mail."

"Oh," Claire repeated. "Yeah." They were quiet a moment, Claire tucked up next to Toby. Toby, for his part, wondered at his _own_ thoughts on the message Jim had sent them that morning. He knew Jim had wanted a normal life - a career, a family. Kids. That it hadn't changed just because he'd been turned into a troll and helped kill an alien wizard.

"So, is this 'rethinking the kids discussion' tres leches?" Toby asked. "Because my position has not changed - however many you want."

"No, I." Claire huffed against Toby's chest. "I got enough of that looking after Enrique, and lord knows being _Rico's_ brother is nearly as bad. But Jim's been king of the potluck _every year_ , has like, the _perfect_ husband-"

" _Hey_ ," Toby protested, only a little offended.

"You're a _very_ close second," Claire said, tugging Toby down for a brief kiss. "Might be doing better if you hadn't managed to piss off the head of the RNC enough that he won't take my calls anymore." Toby rolled his eyes, but didn't press the issue; the man might have deserved what Toby had said, but Toby had married a politician, which meant he was expected to let his political journalist friends eviscerate assholes rather than do it himself.

"Anyway, it feels like he's got everything _together_ , and I can't even manage to make _dessert_ ," Claire concluded. She took a breath, shrugged, and gave Toby a weak smile. "It's stupid."

"A little," Toby agreed.

"You see?" Claire said, jabbing a finger into Toby's chest. " _This_ is why you're not Number One on the husband front; _Jim_ doesn't get this sort of lip in his own home."

"Hey, let me finish!" Toby protested, holding his hands up to ward off Claire's verbal assault. "It's a little stupid, but I get it. But do you _remember_ how hard it was for him to adjust to being a troll? Like all the time, not just his dad being one. And _you_ might have been busy getting a degree at a university that actually taught 'law', but _I_ was around for the three years it took him to figure out human palettes again. I once ate a burrito that was, like, the _opposite_ of salty - a concept I refuse to name for fear that someone else might replicate it."

Claire stepped back, frowning slightly (but arms not crossed, suggesting she wasn't _upset_ ). "Not to derail this trip down memory lane, but is there a point to this?"

"The _point_ ," Toby said, "is that Jim might have gotten where he wanted to be, but he fought for it. And - your dream's a little more complicated than his, so it'll take longer to get there." Claire's face smoothed out, relaxed, a smile tugging at her lips. 

"Fine," she said. " _You're_ the number one husband, but only if you get me dinner in the next forty-five minutes."

"Alright," Toby agreed, tugging out his phone to pull up his delivery app. "If I order Thai food, we can make out on the sofa until the food gets here."

Claire's nose twitched at the involuntary smile the suggestion produced, so Toby picked her up, a sweeping motion to pull her into a bridal carry. She laughed at the sudden movement, grinning as she did so, so Toby leaned in so their noses were a mere inch apart, smiling at the bright-eyed, beautiful woman looking back up at him, gaze as fond as it had ever been looking at him.

"What?" she asked.

"Just thinking how lucky I am," Toby replied.

"Lucky?" Claire retorted. "Not in the slightest. Every single fucking thing we've got now, we _deserve_ , we **earned**." She wrinkled her nose a little. "This is our Golden End, right?"

"Absolutely," Toby agreed, and kissed her. And after dinner, leftover curry still cooling in the bowls, he tugged at a loose end of her hair until she looked over at him. "How about we buy some fancy cupcakes and try to pass them off as yours? I'll bet Mary's the first person to out us as filthy liars."

"It'll be Jim," she retorted. "But _absolutely_. It's a date."


End file.
